


his favourite word.

by Icanwritesee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanwritesee/pseuds/Icanwritesee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>since his early childhood, he surprised his little world with adorable children babble using vocabulary not known by any other two-year-old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	his favourite word.

**Author's Note:**

> our baby thinking of his favourite words.

world was full of words, all sorts of words. probably like those who used them, he mused. there were harsh words. sometimes he said them to build an armor around himself because one can be hurt only some number of times until he snaps and starts to bite back.

there were soft words meant to be whispered in the dark by a lover. words that needed darkness to defend its meanings; daylight seemed to be some kind of a sacrilege when it came to that. he knew about them, of course. he’d heard their parents gently teasing each other in their small kitchen on Sunday mornings. he’d witnessed his peers falling in and out of love as easily as putting shoes on, and he remember wishing to have _nothing_ in common with this feeling. so he didn’t. not really.

*

of course he talked a lot, it was significant to his Work on a daily basis. solving crimes usually needed putting a mask on, creating an alternative personality to be able to go incognito. sometimes it proved to be a little problematic, for example when John couldn’t play along with the masquerade. oh, yes. John’s too-honest nature. sometimes he accidentally blew their cover. but he was luckily quick with his fists, never letting anyone harm the tall one, so it wasn’t that much of a trouble for most of the time.

*

since his early childhood, he surprised his little world with adorable children babble using vocabulary not known by any other two-year-old. at first, he spoke freely of botany; flowers captivated him, that is until his curious, bright eyes discovered bees.

later, his mouth was full of various fields, with science as his beloved one. when he was 12, Carl Powers died tragically and his vocation spoke to him at his young age: he wanted to find those who did that to the boy. he wanted for them to be punished, and decided to dedicate his life to serve justice. those who killed Carl Powers were never found, but they weren’t the only ones. after years of his Work as a consulting detective – only one in the world, mind – he felt some kind of pride thinking that he manager to decrease the numbers of murders in London.

his Work involved immense knowledge, not possible to possess by a regular person. one needed to be highly inteligent, and good at words at that.

*

he knew of soft words meant to be heard by a loved one. he never really wanted to be a lover himself. sex didn’t alarm him, though. but for him, one had to be intimate with someone, and that never was his goal. for him, intimacy wasn’t about touching bodies, being comfortable enough to be naked. nudity wasn’t actually being close since everyone was naked at some point of their lives. _no._ he believed intimacy was letting one, special person to touch your very _soul_. for years he believed he didn’t even have a soul, not until he saw an ex-army surgeon limping into _his_ lab.

*

one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five cases and life crowded by what seemed like a hundred lifetimes taught him that he only had one, favourite word.

_John._


End file.
